


Miguel Rivera and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Family Reunion

by orphan_account



Series: post-canon AU [2]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, Family Drama, LET MIGUEL SAY FUCK, Post-Canon, Romance & Humor, Tension, Update: ON HOLD, but i swear there's some sweet moments and funny ones too, ch. 3 is just an author's note, im sorry mis dudes, it starts off really sad tho, no seriously, takes place 2090
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-10-20 13:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17623691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s finally Miguel’s time to join the rest of his family, which would be heartwarming if it wasn’t for one small little detail…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever stop getting so many ideas and writing so many fics? eh, probably not. oh well.

It was the spring of 2090 – seventy-three years since that Día de Muertos, where Miguel had gotten himself cursed and met his Papá Héctor as well as the same night he found out that the man had been murdered by Mexico’s greatest fraud, Ernesto de la Cruz. Not only that, but this year would be the seventy-second anniversary of Papá Héctor being able to cross the bridge – and maybe, the same year Miguel would finally get to see his dead relatives in person again. At least, he hoped so.

  
Within the years that had passed since that fateful night, he had grown from a scruffy young boy into a man. Now, he was eighty-five years-old and a famous (former) musician – though of course, not as famous as his  _tatarabuelo_ was. Still, he’d made quite a name for himself along with his sister and cousins – the latter of whom he started up a band with together, until they reached a point where they had to go their own separate paths in life and career.

 

Overall, life was good for the most part. He had a musical career that lasted for sixty-five years, until he retired at age eighty for – well, pretty obvious reasons, considering his age. He was a father to three children – including an eldest son, named  _Héctor Enrique Junior_ – and a grandfather to their children. His wife was a pianist, whose career was still ongoing. He even knew how to craft dancing shoes for his little sister. 

 

But even with all the good things in life, there were the pains of it as well – the deaths of his family members, the stress of having to deal with all of the fame, keeping the family’s shoe business alive while his career had still been afloat, and his decreasing health that came with old age.

 

He tried his best to keep his chin up despite everything, but it was difficult as he grew more tired with each and every day that passed. As his exhaustion increased, so did his desire to join the rest of his family in the Land of the Dead. He wanted to see his parents, his cousins, his aunts and uncles and all of his grandparents again. Just receiving letters from them and seeing them on one night of the year was no longer good enough for him. He wanted to  _physically_ be with them.

 

It wasn’t like he had much use for the Land of the Living any longer. By no means was he the family’s patriarch – hell, he was barely even a leader at all. It was Socorro, Manny and Benny who kept the business going now, with the help of their own children. His children were already grown up, and his grandchildren were already in their teens by now. Dante and Pepita still stopped by with letters from his deceased relatives, but neither the xolo nor the cat stuck around for long anymore as they mostly left quickly after delivering the letters.

 

Miguel’s will to stay alive kept fading with each day as he was left with little reason to keep going. He had reached his peak a long time ago, and all that he had to look forward to nowadays was his younger sister pushing him around in his wheelchair while trying desperately to make him happy, which he always appreciated as he loved his hermanitavery dearly and held her in his heart. She truly was a star, shining in the darkness. Bless her heart and soul, really, but even she couldn’t rid him of the deathly thoughts that plagued his mind.

 

And so it was this particular sunset where he began to get a feeling – a feeling that his time was soon coming to an end, and that he was at the final chapter of his story. Soon after he had gotten this feeling, he asked his little sister to take him to the family’s cemetery.

 

“Why there, hermano?” Socorro asked him, her voice still soft despite her old age.

 

“I just want to see our family,” he replied simply.

 

She didn’t argue. She pushed his wheelchair into the family cemetery, and there he looked over each and every grave.

 

The first graves were that of his great-great-grandparents, Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda. His tatarabuelo died due to arsenic poisoning, and his body had been dug up from a shallow grave in the outskirts of Mexico City and reburied in the family’s little graveyard. His tatarabuela died from a heart attack, induced by both stress and old age.

 

_In the loving memory of Héctor Rivera_

_Devoted father and wonderful musician_

_November 30, 1900 —_ _December 7, 1921_

 

_Strong-willed, loving mother and hardworking matriarch_

_Imelda Rivera_

_October 3, 1899_ _— November 11, 1969_

 

The next graves were his great-grandparents, Papá Julio and Mamá Coco. His bisabuelo died due to heart disease, while his bisabuela died in her sleep at age one hundred.

 

_The daughter who never stopped waiting for her father_

_Socorro “Coco” Ofelia Rivera_

_May 19, 1918 —_ _June 8, 2018_

 

_Julio Rivera (née Arau)_

_January 11, 1917 —_ _January 14th, 2001_

 

The graves next to theirs were those of their two daughters, Tía Victoria and Abuelita Elena, and Elena’s husband Franco. Tía Victoria had contracted a lung disease, and died not too long after her forty-third birthday after months of battling her cancer. Abuelita Elena and Abuelito Franco died a month apart from each other in their sleep, having finally succumbed to old age.

 

_Stoic, serene aunt_

_Victoria Ana Dyana Rivera Arau_

_April 8, 1939_ _— May 1, 1982_

 

_Strong, well-meaning grandmother_

_Elena Renée Angélica Rivera Arau_

_September 27, 1945 —_ _June 15, 2029_

 

_Franco Rivera (née Gonzalez)_

_August 8, 1941 —_ _August 23, 2029_

 

Next were his parents’ graves. His father had died a year after his eldest son was born due to a sudden heart attack, his mother following seven years later for reasons that were unknown, though Miguel suspected that perhaps it was because she could no longer stand the heartbreak.

 

_Eccentric shoemaker and father_

_Enrique Jaime César Rivera Gonzalez_

_August 13, 1975 —_ _July 22, 2036_

 

_Caring and understanding mother_

_Luisa Sofía Rivera (née Ocampos)_

_September 22, 1980 —_ _September 22, 2043_

 

Then came all of his aunts and uncles’ graves. His gran-tíos, Oscar and Felipe, died in a wagon accident in their late forties. Tía Rosita died from a stroke while she was in the garden, watering some flowers. His Tío Berto died with the cause being coronary artery disease. Like her sister-in-law, Tía Gloria’s death remained a mystery, but it was assumed that she just followed after her younger brother. Tía Carmen died a year after Gloria did, though it had been a natural, peaceful one - not too unfamiliar with her mother and father in-laws’ deaths.

 

_Fun-loving, extraordinary pranksters_

_Oscar & Felipe Rivera _

_March 14, 1904 —_ _June 23, 1951_

 

_Exuberant, gregarious, affectionate aunt_

_Rosita Selene Rivera (née Arau)_

_November 22, 1922 — September 19, 1978_

 

_Berto Luis Rivera Gonzalez_

_June 26, 1971 —_ _February 28, 2041_

 

_Gloria Carla Rivera Gonzalez_

_June 29, 1973 —_ _July 4, 2039_

 

_Carmen Rivera (née Hernández)_

_January 21, 1978 —_ _December 2, 2040_

 

And finally, there were his older cousins’ graves. Prima Rosa was only two years older than him, and lived a good long life. She was the one who suggested that she, him and Primo Abel could form a band together back when they were in their twenties. After they split up, she went on to do solo acts as a violinist before she finally stopped at age forty, so she could become the family’s next matriarch – and she did a good job, to the point where Mamá Imelda shed tears of joy each time she’d visit on Día de Muertos. But alas, she died eight years prior to this one at seventy-nine. Her older brother died ten years before his sister’s death, from sepsis.

 

_Talented, ambitious prima y matriarca_

_Rosa Victoria Denisse Rivera Hernández_

_January 20, 2003 — January 20, 2082_

 

_Silly, benevolent primo_

_Abel Pablo Rivera Hernández_

_February 1, 1998 — December 3, 2072_

 

It wouldn’t be too long until he joined them in the Land of the Dead, Miguel thought, but never said aloud. He couldn’t trouble his baby sister now, not when he loved her so much.

 

After a good look over of each grave, Miguel pressed his fingers to his lips, then touched every grave with those fingers. Once that was done, he felt himself getting a little more tired than usual. Socorro must’ve noticed his eyes drooping, since she didn’t hesitate to wheel him back inside the house and set him down in bed, telling his wife and children that he needed some rest.

 

Miguel felt his body going numb as his eyes slowly but surely shut. He took a few more breaths before finally, his breathing stopped. His chest went still as the rest of his body soon shut down – but unlike all the other times where he’d wake up, this was the final time he’d close his eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

When Miguel woke up, he saw that he was on top of thousands of marigold petals. He looked to his hands and saw that they were not made of flesh, but bone instead. He wiggled his finger, before feeling up his face to make sure that this wasn’t a dream. After knocking on his own skull, he smiled and let out a joyful laugh, realizing he was in the Land of the Dead.

 

“Bienvenido a la Tierra de los Muertos, señor,” an officer greeted him warmly, holding out a hand for him to take.

 

He took their hand, and they helped him get back on his feet. “Where’s my family?” he asked, looking around. “My dead family, I mean.”

 

“You need to follow me first so that we can get you registered,” the officer replied. “ _Then_ your dead relatives can come to pick you up.”

 

He nodded and followed the officer as they led him through the entrance of the Marigold Grand Central Station, to the Department of Family Reunions where he was sat down in front of a caseworker

 

“I-it’s you!” the caseworker stammered, her eyes widening as she recognized him. “You’re that living boy!”

 

“Bet you didn’t expect to see me again, huh?” he chuckled. “Well, I’m back here now, and this time it’s to stay.”

 

The caseworker quickly went on with registering him. Once his name was marked in the system, he was put on a list of new arrivals and led into a waiting room, which had other new arrivals – both old and young – waiting for their relatives as well. The other arrivals’ eyes widened as they, too, recognized him.

 

He paid no mind to their whispering however as he looked around the room, taking everything in. After so many years, he would finally get to see his family again. He would get to touch them, feel them, spend all the time in the world with them and there wouldn’t be anything standing in his way.

 

After an hour of waiting, a familiar voice yelled out: “Chamaco!”

 

Miguel’s eyes widened as he looked to the door and saw his tatarabuelo. “Papá Héctor!” He ran over to the other man and threw his arms around him, hugging him tighter than he ever had as a child.

 

Héctor rubbed his tataranieto’s back, laughing softly. “I didn’t expect to see you here this year,” he commented. “I almost didn’t believe the worker when she called, but–” he sniffled, gulping down a lump that had formed in his throat while tears had already begun to spill. It had been so long since he had last held his tataranieto that he was already overwhelmed by emotion. “I’m glad she was right. I missed you, mijo.”

 

“I missed you too, Papá Héctor,” Miguel whispered back.

 

After a couple of minutes, the rest of the deceased Riveras all poured into the room. The first ones to step in were Imelda and Coco, the former of whom cupped his skull in her hands and grinned with utmost pride. Despite the fact that her hands were calloused, they were still warm and smooth as they touched his skull. “I am _so_ proud of you. You are the spitting image of your tatarabuelo.”

 

Coco was next to cup Miguel’s cheeks. He leaned into her touch, hiccuping with sobs. “M-Mamá Coco, I – I missed you so–”

 

“ _Cálmese,_ mijo,” she said softly, smiling at him with fondness and love.

 

“It’s good to see you again,” Julio said as he walked up next to his wife.

 

The three hugged for a while, before it was Elena’s turn. She wrapped Miguel in a tight hug similar to her aunt’s, smothering him as she held him to her chest. “ _Ay,_ my sweet little angelito querido cielito!”

 

“I love you too, Abuelita,” Miguel choked out, his voice muffled. He could already feel his bones bending in ways they shouldn’t as his grandmother quite literally smothered him with love.

  
“Elena, I think it’s time you let him go,” Franco spoke up, noticing that their grandson was receiving perhaps a little _too much_ love.

 

“Oh, right!” Elena let go of Miguel. At first, he thought he was going to be passed over to Tía Victoria, but instead he was passed to Tía Rosita, who engulfed him in her famous bear hug.

 

“Our little _Migueli-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-to_ is finally home!” she cried with joy.

 

“ _En efecto,_ ” he wheezed.

 

He thought that after Tía Rosita was done hugging him, he’d get to Tía Victoria. No such luck, though he didn’t mind since it was the twins who both embraced him while speaking in their usual way.

 

“So good to finally–”

 

“–meet you again–”

 

“–in the flesh, Miguel!”

 

Enrique and Luisa both approached their son next, with Enrique’s hand around his wife’s shoulders. Miguel felt himself tear up as he saw the warm, loving looks on their faces. He sobbed as his father and mother both pulled him into a hug.

 

“ _Papá, Mamá,_ I–”

 

“It’s been forever since we’ve seen you, Migue,” Enrique spoke softly.

 

“We’re finally together again,” Luisa stated.

 

“Yep,” Miguel laughed a little through his tears. “ _All of us._ ”

 

His Tío Berto and Tía Gloria seemed to be a little distant for some reason as they merely gave him a quick squeeze, then passed him onto Rosa and Abel before talking with his parents.

 

“I thought he wasn’t going to arrive for five more years,” Berto whispered to his brother.

 

“He isn’t ready to find out!” Gloria tried her best not to screech, though her frantic tone was still noticeable.

 

“He was going to have to find out _eventually,_ ” Enrique whispered back, making his son raise an eyebrow. Just _what_ exactly was he going to have to find out?

 

Miguel shook off his thoughts as Rosa embraced him. “You know, I didn’t think you’d get here so soon,” she commented with a small smirk. “You took _forever_ to come here.”

 

“Yeah, you took so long that we had to set up a calendar counting down the days,” Abel added. “We estimated that you’d be here in five years, but…” he trailed off, seeming a little tense for a few seconds before he shook his head. “Well, you’re here now!”

 

“Gee, thanks guys,” Miguel said with a roll of his eyes, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Really feeling the love here.”

 

As the three cousins all held onto each other, Héctor started to bite his fingers as he looked to the doorway. “Oh _dios,_ why does he have to find out today? Why couldn’t his body have waited to shut down in a couple of years?”

 

Imelda grabbed her husband’s arm, turning him to face her. “Now Héctor,” she began in a low, hushed tone so as to not grab their tataranieto’s attention. “You and I both knew _very well_ that this day was coming. We all agreed that Victoria would be the last one to greet him for a _reason._ ”

 

Héctor raised a finger. “Yes, we did agree on it, _BUT_ I didn’t think it would be _today_ specifically!” He gestured to their tataranieto. “And now he’s here, and we have to break it to him that _‘oh yeah, the guy who murdered your tatarabuelo, stole his songs and guitar and tried to kill you twice has been working at the shoe shop since 2019 and has totally changed since then, he and said tatarabuelo are on good terms – and oh, did I forget to mention that he and your gran-tía are an item?’_ ” he spoke with a mock tone, then his arms sagged. “What if he freaks out? What if he has a mental breakdown? There are so many possibilities and every single one of them has got me _shaking,_ Imelda!” He made a gesture to his legs, which were now shaking with anxiety.

 

“Oh, and you think it’s easy for us?” a man’s voice interrupted. The Rivera patriarch and matriarch turned to see Ernesto and Victoria walking towards them hand-in-hand. “I’m not exactly thrilled about it either, _especially_ since I’m the one who… you know…”

 

“He has to know though,” Victoria cut in. “We’ve told all the others, now it’s his turn. If we could get through with telling them, then we can tell him.” She tried to give her novio a reassuring smile. “Besides, it’s been seventy-three years. I’m sure he’s moved on since then.”

 

Ernesto gave her a skeptical look. “Sure,” he scoffed. “The boy who wrote over a dozen songs about his dead family to make sure that no one forgot them would just forget about the two times he was almost killed.” Victoria’s gaze hardened, and he quickly put his hands up. “Alright, _alright!_ I’ll try.”

 

Her lips curved upward. “That’s better. Now, let’s get this over with.”

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Rosa saw the couple approaching, with Ernesto standing far behind Victoria as to not be recognized at a first glance. She looked at Abel and the two quickly made a silent prayer, then let go of their cousin.

 

All of the other Rivera family members huddled close, hoping and praying that everything would be fine, though that didn’t lessen the anxiety that bubbled within the pits of their phantom stomachs.

 

Miguel turned to his great-aunt and grinned, glad to finally see her there. “Tía Victoria! I was wondering where you were!”

 

Victoria hugged her nephew gently, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “ _Bienvenido a casa,_ mijo.”

 

“It’s good to be back.” Miguel rested his head on his great-aunt’s shoulder for a moment, until his eyes trailed off to a man standing behind her. The eighty-five year-old rose his head, his eyes widening as he recognized the man. How could he forget the face of someone who tried to kill him when he was _a child?_

 

He pulled away from the hug, stepping to the side as his eyes narrowed dangerously. “What the _fuck_ is _he_ doing here?”

 

The room became deathly silent at this. Everyone except Miguel all froze up, with the exception of a nineteen year-old bystander who uttered in a frightened tone, “Oh god, I’m scared.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that chapter wasn’t too bad, and that the characters were written okay. I know it’s not the best, but this has been in my drafts for months and I just really wanted to share this idea with you all. 
> 
> For most of the Riveras, I picked the dates of their spanish and english actors’ births for their death and birth dates, with some obvious exceptions here and there. Said actors’ names were also used as middle names for some, while I left others alone because… random choosing.


	2. Chapter 2

With how silent the room was and how still everyone had become, it would’ve been easy to assume that everything had been frozen in time. It wasn’t until Miguel spoke up again that everyone snapped back to reality.

 

“Well?” His narrowed eyes seemed to stare into his former idol’s soul, judging him with each second that passed. “I’m waiting for an answer.”

 

“You see, Miguel,” Victoria started in a gentle tone. “A year after Papá Héctor crossed the bridge for the first time, I decided to pay a visit to Ernesto, who was still under the bell. I asked him why he did all those horrible things, and he explained to me why… and I realized that he was just a lonely soul.” When Miguel was about to interject, she raised a hand. “And of course, I knew that didn’t excuse anything, but it was enough for me to decide that he still had some potential left. So, I got Pepita to let him out from underneath the bell. Once he was out from underneath the bell, we rode on Pepita’s back to the shoe shop, and I convinced Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda to let him work there. During his first year of working there, we talked a lot and bonded, and well…” She rubbed her arm nervously, tapping her feet together. “Eventually, strangers turned into friends, and friends turned into…” she took a deep breath in, then finished: “Lovers.”

 

It was at that moment that Miguel felt his whole world crashing down around him. It was those very words that made his chest swell with anger, like lava inside a volcano. His abuelita’s sister, _his dearest aunt,_ was in love with with Ernesto de la Cruz. She was in a relationship with the man who murdered their Papá Héctor and threw him in a cenote, before going on to try and throw him off a huge building. The very man who tore their family apart was her _novio._ Ernesto de la Cruz, the man who had ruined everything, was free and he had somehow brainwashed Tía Victoria into loving him.

 

To say that Héctor was scared by his tataranieto’s silence was an understatement of the century. He was _horrified_ at how angry the boy looked, and how quiet he had become. “Chamaco…?”

 

Ernesto noticed the angered look on the boy’s face, along with his clenched fists and gritted teeth. He tried to smile and ask, “Uh, niño… estás bien?”

 

Miguel just stared at Ernesto, amazed by the gall the man had. After all that he had done, he was seriously asking him if he was alright? He was _unbelievable._ Just absolutely _astounding._

 

Eventually, all the anger Miguel had completely poured out through one loud yell: “ _ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME_?!”

 

Suddenly, Miguel tackled Ernesto to the ground and began throwing punches at him. “YOU TORE MY FAMILY APART, MURDERED MY TATARABUELO AND DESTROYED MY CHILDHOOD INNOCENCE, BRAINWASH MY AUNT INTO LOVING YOU _AND THEN YOU ASK ME IF I’M OKAY_?!”

 

“Miguel, Ernesto!” Victoria cried out, standing aside as she watched the scuffle between the two.

 

“See?!” Héctor looked to his wife and pointed to the scuffle before them. “ _THIS_ is what I was afraid of!”

 

“Well, I didn’t think he’d react _this_ badly!” Imelda tried to defend herself, her voice cracking a little as dread washed over her. She never knew her tataranieto could be so terrifying, so violent, so… un-Miguel-like.

 

“I told you, Quique! I _told you_ he wasn’t ready to know!” Gloria screeched at Enrique. 

 

“Miguel, no!” Rosa yelled as she and Abel ran up to their cousin, trying to pull him off de la Cruz. “Stop it!”

 

“I’ll stop when he’s a pile of dust!” Miguel yelled, struggling against his cousins’ hold on him as he flailed his arms, trying to strike de la Cruz a couple more times.

 

“ _Ay dios mio,_ ” Elena sighed as she shook her head, watching the twins and Rosita join in on restraining Miguel. “What are we going to do with this boy?”

 

“Explain to him why he can’t try to kill Ernesto?” Luisa asked, a bit of sweat trickling down the side of her head.

 

“Let go of me!” Miguel grunted, trying to break free of his family’s grip on him.

 

“Miguel, _STOP_!” Victoria yelled, running over to stand between her nephew and her novio. “Please, _calm down._ I know you're rather upset about this news, but–”

 

“Rather upset is when a performance is cancelled,” Miguel cut her off. “This is an _outrage._ ” He gestured his head at Ernesto. “This man _killed_ Papá Héctor and tried to drown me in a cenote, then threw me off a building when I was twelve! _Twelve!_ And you and him are in a _relationship?!”_

 

“I know it sounds bad,” Ernesto spoke up. “But I swear that I'm not the man you met all those years ago.”

 

Miguel sneered at him. “Sure you aren't.”

 

“He's right, Miguel,” Victoria softly insisted. “He has changed.”

 

“And besides,” Rosa cut in. “Tía Luisa, Abuelita and I already had our fair share of beating de la Cruz,  _especially_ Abuelita.”

 

“Don’t I know it?” Ernesto grumbled, still remembering how each woman hit him with their shoes as a way to avenge Miguel and Héctor.

 

“Well– wait a minute, you’re all _okay_ with this despite knowing what he’s done?” Miguel asked in shock, looking at each and every single one of his family members.

 

“It’s been a long time, mijo,” Héctor said softly, stepping up to his tataranieto and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Just as things change, people do too.”

 

“You of all people should understand,” Imelda added as she stepped next to her boy. “As a child, you didn’t care much for family until your little journey here. Remember that?”

 

“That was different though,” Miguel argued. “I was a little boy who blindly idolized someone and it took finding out the truth about Papá Héctor for me to realize how important family is, yet now you’re letting the very man who tore our family apart live with you?”

 

Victoria shook her head at this and sighed as she helped Ernesto get back up on his feet. “You were right, Ernesto,” she said with a frown. “He didn’t move on.”

 

“I wish I wasn’t right,” Ernesto muttered as he stood up, brushing the dust off his pants. “He hits almost as hard as your abuelita, but he’s got your abuelo’s anger…” His bones began rattling. “And now I don’t know whether to be terrified by this or not.”

 

Victoria rubbed his shoulders. “Don’t worry, we’ll… we’ll make this work. He can’t stay mad forever. If Mamá Imelda could get over her grudges, then he can too.”

 

“I really hope that you’re right about this,” Ernesto sighed.

 

Miguel watched Victoria and Ernesto talk with disbelief. To see his aunt with a filthy, lying murderer was just unfathomable… it felt like some sort of nightmare, but it wasn’t. It was just as real as the first time he came to the Land of the Dead. “I can’t believe this isn’t a dream. This is _really happening_ right now.”

 

“Trust me, chamaco, when I say that I felt the same way when I found out about their relationship long ago,” Héctor assured him. “But you’ll get used to it eventually.” He looked around, noticing that all the bystanders were huddled in a corner, scared by the outburst from earlier. “Right now, we should probably get home.”

 

“Right…” Imelda nodded, her gaze following her husband’s, wincing upon realizing how much tension there had been. “Let’s go now, before the clerk starts calling in some security.”

 

With that, the Riveras began filing out of the place, making sure Miguel was as far away from Ernesto as possible.

 

* * *

 

For the most part, fifty-five year-old Héctor Enrique considered himself a lucky man. After all, not a lot of people were privileged enough to be born into a family of shoemakers and musicians, much less as the child of a famous musician like Miguel Rivera, who was also the descendant of the legendary _Héctor Rivera_. So yes, he could fondly look back on his musical shoemaking childhood and say that life was good for the most part. He was fairly well-known in town, had a good wife and a four kids with the youngest being of sixteen years, the best father, a sweet aunt and a cousin who was his partner in crime – and there was no amount of fame or riches he would trade them for.

 

But he also knew of his family’s past, of how music was banned due to a misunderstanding, all because his great-great-great grandfather was murdered by his own best friend. He knew of how Mamá Imelda’s sorrow and anger got the better of her, how the ban passed down from generation to generation, how it took his father getting cursed and almost being trapped in the Land of the Dead for the truth to be known and for the ban to be lifted – he knew his family history from simple things such as names to more complicated things such as past and current actions. He knew that his family was no stranger to tragedies. His first funeral was when he was only one year-old, not long after his abuelo’s passing.

 

He frowned as he recalled everything. Even if he knew very well that it was important to remember everything about his family including their deaths, there were times where he wished he could just forget all the sorrows of the past. He wished he could’ve prevented those events from occurring, even though they were far out of his control... just like the events that were sure to come, like his father's death. 

 

“ _Hellooooo,_ earth to Teto!” the voice of a middle-aged woman snapped him back to reality.

 

He shook his head, blinking quickly as he suddenly saw his cousin, Imelda Teresa II, sitting across from him along with his youngest daughter, Penelope.

 

“My apologies,” Héctor Enrique said quickly, coughing awkwardly. “Where were we?”

 

“You were telling us about the time you and Tía Imelda performed for the first time and how Abuelito told you both how Papá Héctor was playing along with you two!” Penelope answered excitedly.

 

“Right, right…” Héctor Enrique cleared his throat, pulling at his shirt collar. “Alright, so, uh… then, Papá Héctor–”

 

He was cut off by a loud wail, which startled everyone in the room. Penelope whimpered and buried her face into her aunt’s side, while Imelda II and Héctor Enrique looked at each other, knowing very well who the cry belonged to and that something was wrong.

 

“Tía Coco,” Héctor Enrique whispered, quickly getting out of his seat to dash down the hall. He reached the end of the hall, where his father’s room was. There, he saw his aunt hunched over his father’s bed, her body racked with sobs. His blood ran cold, fear kicking in at the sight. “Tía…?” _Please,_ he begged silently. _Not now…_

 

Socorro turned her head towards her eldest nephew, her eyes red and puffy, her wrinkled cheeks stained with tears. “Oh, Teto,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry. _I’m so sorry._ ”

 

 _No, no, no, no, no – please, no._ “Papá,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “He’s not – he isn’t–”

 

His aunt moved aside, and that was when he saw his father’s limp body. In that moment, it all came crashing down on him.

 

When Imelda II and the rest of the family finally entered the room, they saw Socorro and Héctor Enrique standing by the bed with grim looks on their faces, and it was then that they knew that Miguel Rivera was no longer with them.

 

* * *

 

After leaving the Department of Family Reunions, the Riveras all loaded into a bus and drove off back to the shoe shop. Miguel was sitting in a seat next to Héctor – who took the bus driver’s seat – and next to him were Imelda and Coco, while Ernesto was kept a fair distance from the new arrival, with Victoria sitting right next to him, an arm wrapped around her novio.

 

The ride home was very silent, with Miguel occasionally shooting daggers at Ernesto, who gripped onto Victoria’s arm as though it were a lifeline. Everyone else just looked at each other as an awkward, tense silence settled in.

 

“So, uh,” Héctor began, trying to break the silence. “Pretty exciting day, huh? First our Miguelito comes home, there’s a reunion and then he learns of our dear Vico and Nesto’s relationship.”

 

“Oh _sí_ ,” Imelda agreed with her husband, nodding. “Very exciting…” She looked at Miguel. “Wouldn’t you agree, mijo?”

 

“If you call learning that your aunt is dating the guy who threw you off a building, killed your tatarabuelo and almost doomed him to a second death while stealing his songs exciting, then yes,” Miguel answered sarcastically. “It was _soooo_ ‘exciting.’”

 

Ernesto gritted his teeth, beginning to get a little annoyed. “Oh yeah?” he said in a challenging tone. “Well, I stole her heart too, so I guess this means you’ll have to call me ‘Tío Ernesto’ from now on!”

 

Victoria shot a glare at him. “ _Ernesto!”_ she cried out, both annoyed and embarrassed.

 

Miguel’s eyes widened in horror at the very thought, his body becoming stiff with shock. Ernesto had a smug grin on his face, feeling as though he had won this round.

 

“Dios mío, you broke him!” Rosa cried out as she tried getting up from her seat. “He wasn’t even around for a whole day, and you’ve already broken my primo!”

 

“ _Ay,_ these two are going to be at each other’s necks for months,” Oscar complained to his brother. “It’ll be no different than when he and Imelda first met, or when Elena came here.”

 

“No, hermano,” Felipe disagreed. “Miguel’s grudge is _worse_ than theirs.”

 

Héctor began banging his head against the steering wheel, wondering to himself: _Oh, why me?_

 

Luckily, before parts of his skull could crack, the bus stopped in front of the shoe shop. Everyone immediately stepped off and rushed inside the shoe shop, with the exception of Miguel, Héctor, Imelda and Victoria.

 

Once the mariachi was gone, Miguel looked to his great-aunt and asked, “Tía, you’re not going to marry him, are you?”

 

“Of course not!” Victoria replied quickly, putting a hand over her chest as she scoffed. “Dating a man who murdered your abuelo is one thing, but who in the right mind would marry an _asesino_?”

 

“It was also made illegal for him to engage in matrimony way back in 2018,” Héctor mentioned.

 

“Yet he’s allowed to date her?” Miguel asked, pointing to his aunt, who was already heading back inside the house.

 

“Look, mijo, we’ll talk about this later,” Imelda said with a tired shake of her head. “Right now, let’s just relax. It’s been a long day.”

 

“I’ll say,” Miguel snorted. His face scrunched up as he followed his tatarabuelos into the house, with one thing on his mind: one way or another, he was going to put a stop to this 'relationship.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eesh, this chapter took a long time to finish cause it just didn’t want to be uploaded… that, and I had to do this art project, but now I’m back to some writing.  
> My apologies for the quick moment with the living Riveras, since I just wanted to give a glimpse at Teto and his family… I also just suck at angst sometimes, so yeah.  
> Anyway, I hope this was passable and that you guys like this chapter... adios, amigos… <3


	3. Author's note

Hi, guys.

So it's been a while since I've written... well, anything, but I have my reasons.

See, I've been taking on new classes which has left me with little time in the morning to write down anything, and in the afternoon I just get so tired that I don't even bother opening up word or google docs.

There's also the fact that I had to deal with a thief who thought they could steal one of my fics and rewrite it so it could work for their OC/canon ship, so I had to figure out how to report it on wattpad since apparently, there's a long process when it comes to plagiarism...

...which doesn't help the fact that later that day, I find out that a close relative of mine died out of the blue, for an unknown reason. A relative who was perfectly healthy had just died, and I find this out after having to file a copyright report.

This pretty much left me in a frenzy of emotions and put me off writing for a good while. Of course after grieving, I tried getting into the funk quickly just to take away the pain, and forced myself to write when I was exhausted and emotionally drained... and it took me a long time to realize that the spark just wasn't there anymore.

I've written fics, only to leave them on hold for a long time all because I wanted to focus on posting new random ideas that came out of nowhere and would be gone within a flash. I spent hours writing for stories of which I had no idea how they'd go or end and was just winging. Whatever stories I did complete? I ended up regretting even writing the damn fics because of how horrendous my writing was and how horribly it aged. The only reason I didn't delete them was because they're the only fics for a rare pair that I hyperfixated on for a while.

Which leads me to another point: while I still like this rarepair and fandom, I just... I don't have the muse to write for them anymore. I don't know what happened, but as of late, my hyperfocus has diminished a lot. I just can't write anymore, because whatever inspiration I had is gone. I've tried writing, but I always hit a stump and never find a way to continue... I blame it on the fact that I've found new media and became more occupied with it... that and life has just caught up with me, and I'm too ashamed and embarrassed with my older works to continue.

I don't know how else to explain this or even know what to say except that I'm sorry to those who liked my fics, but I'm afraid they'll be put on hold for a long time. Thank you to all who have commented on my works and left kudos. 

With that said, take care.

– Noiren


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